


borderline

by cowboyflesh (cowboymeat), lambchops (lambmeat)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Drugged Sex, Dry Orgasm, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Public Sex, Unrealistic Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27824074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboymeat/pseuds/cowboyflesh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambmeat/pseuds/lambchops
Summary: “Are you sure you aren’t drunk, Jesse?” Gabriel asks, brow furrowed.“Only had two cups,” McCree grits out as his stomach tightens in a coil of arousal.Reyes takes the opportunity to glance down at the spilled drink spiderwebbing along the concrete, painting the dull bricks a rust color as it mingles with the dirt. Flecks of gold reflect in the dim light offered by weakly buzzing streetlamps that bleed into the alley, and the commander is keenly aware of precisely what’s happening to the agent.“Jesse, that isn’t just spiked with alcohol.”
Relationships: Jesse McCree/Reaper | Gabriel Reyes
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38





	borderline

The stenches of fried food and human and alcohol mingle in the air among the massing crowd as Reyes and his agents descend upon the party at which their mission is assigned. Each of them done up in garish costumes to fit into the masquerade theme, they each caught a fair share of taunts from agents lucky enough to be able to remain on the modest drop ship. 

What is, on the surface, a “couple’s masquerade,” merely an excuse to get drunk and make decisions one will regret for the remainder of the weekend, is an alibi for prominent rum-runners and money counterfeiters to meet and split their profits. Typically, such petty crime in the grand scheme of things is left to local law enforcement, but the rumors of the orchestrator of the ring being present is enough to draw Reyes’ unit out to scent for clues. Tax evasion is hardly considered Blackwatch’s scope, but the active funding of assassinating prominent political leaders with dirty money is. 

Spurs rattling like an angry snake with each step and a black bandana pulled high over his cheekbones, Gabriel looks all the Hollywood cowboy as anyone could ask. The brim of his stetson kisses his forehead in such a way as to only offer an onlooker a glimpse of the piercing eyes that lay beneath. Intimidating and demanding attention. Jesse is his analogue, dressed in a comparatively-peacockish scarlet with the addition of fringe, purely because the younger insisted on it. Worn leather chaps seal the deal. Even if they didn’t pin down their target, they’d definitely win the costume contest. 

Bandoliers (full of live rounds, though no one need know) and holsters criss-cross their torsos, pulled directly from deep storage for the purpose of completing their outfits and hopefully deterring the random stranger from approaching and interrupting. As his partner for the purpose of the mission, they are to be working in close proximity; they need no intrusion by a drunk and horny stranger to be encouraged by skimpy outfits. 

Moira and Genji are not so lucky as to have both thematic and functional costumes, given their late inclusion. What was initially intended to be a two-man mission was increased to four as the sheer length of the guest list was discovered. Too much ground for only Jesse and Reyes to cover. Their weapons are simply tucked within under-the-clothes holsters. 

Reyes cringes to think of how much of the Blackwatch budget went towards finding the correct makeup, but the pair of them make rather convincing vampires regardless. Where he and Jesse’s outfits are relatively compact, theirs have somewhat more give and flow to them—whether that is to be an issue is yet to be determined. What’s most important at this point is covering ground.

Leading the breach into the rippling crowd, Reyes’ broad shoulders push a path for McCree to follow behind him. Even if he didn’t tower above most of the crowd, the jingle of spurs as he stalks the concrete would help McCree find him, just as a cat collar or cowbell. 

“They won’t be out in the open,” Reyes states, both to McCree and to the open mic of the coms. “Don’t forget to sweep buildings if their doors are open to the party.”

“You want us to look under those big ball gowns too? Could be hidin’ under there,” Jesse asks, smile audible in his voice. 

Gabriel doesn't find it nearly as amusing. He doesn’t dignify it with a response, simply continues to the coms, “You can drink only to fit in and avoid suspicion. I don’t want to have to carry you back to the drop ship because you can’t walk.”

There’s a pointed look thrown his way, exaggerated by the fact that McCree can only see a strip of Reyes’ face between his stetson and his bandana. He simply fixes McCree with a glare, then carries on.

“What?” the younger scoffs indignantly, “Like I can’t hold my liquor?” 

His commander shakes his head, not bothering to respond past the annoyed acknowledgement of his words.

“You’ve read the files, you know the target,” Reyes says, “don’t be stupid and don’t get caught.”

Glancing up at the balcony, McCree catches the end of an impressive tailcoat following the silhouette of two figures. They move quickly, almost as if they are floating, down the balcony stairs to mingle with the partygoers a ways away. Moira and Genji make an imposing couple, standing tall and intimidating with ghastly complexions and haunting eyes (largely because of both of their artificial augmentations). 

Watching them disappear into the crowd that is slowly building in numbers, McCree looks to Reyes, who is squinting from beneath his brim, scanning the windows of the looming buildings. He doesn’t move his head much, partly because a lot of movement is only exaggerated by the impressive stetson and because it would only convey an out-of-place wariness.

“They’ve entered the art gallery,” Reyes hums, “we need to stay out here and keep eyes.”

“Why don’t you loosen up a bit,” McCree says, following him slowly through the swath of cheesy couples’ costumes towards the impressive outside bar, “not doin’ discretion any favors, stalkin’ ‘bout the way you are.”

For once, he doesn’t get a snapped warning for his comment. If anyone ought to know how to behave like a sheep rustler in his natural habitat, it’d be McCree. He makes the spurs sound melodic, charming—whereas Reyes’ boot steps are loud and imposing. They reverberate throughout the ground they walk. Few glance their direction, but it’s enough that Reyes heeds his advice and tries to alter his stride and stance. Shoulders dropping, lifting his chin just so, he tries not to look like he’s charging into an armed stagecoach robbery.

McCrees smiles to himself. Glancing about, trying to pay attention to his surroundings and not how his commander walks in spurs, nor how the chaps hug his frame, he notes the distinct absence of security of any sort. Typically grand parties such as this have some level of organized protection, even if it is some run-of-the-mill security-for-hire. It doesn’t seem to irk Reyes, so Jesse doesn’t make mention of it, assuming his commander has already noticed such blatant weakness.

Within a half hour of patrolling the ground floor, occasionally mingling with guests to make it seem as though they weren’t wolves in sheeps clothing stalking through the herd, and it’s become harder to walk a straight line. The sheer size of the guest list was lost on McCree until that moment, when he barely kept up with Reyes, worming his way through the waves of attendants enjoying the lively music and their drinks. Some have already given in to their drinks and are clinging heavily to their partners.

“Said we could drink, yeah?”

“Why, you nervous?” he quips, though his words are not barbed in any way. Earns him a dry snort from the proper cowboy. 

“Just a little parched is all. You want anythin’?”

“No.”

“Sure? You look like you could let loose a little, sir.”

With no response, and therefore no dissention from the commander, he peels from the older man’s side and makes his way to the modest unmanned bar. Any hors d’oeuvres have long since been destroyed by the crowd, but it makes no difference to Jesse; he’s just there for the booze. 

Feeling a little festive, he opts for the obviously-spiked punch—reeking of spirits—over his typical liquor. A single cheap plastic cup of the sugar-water-vodka that passed for refreshments, and he’s had his fill. A strange, alien warmth settles low in his stomach, but he writes it off as being slightly lightweight as a result of limiting his alcohol intake for training. 

With a hurried casualness, as though he were a typical partygoer who simply lost his partner in the swell of the crowd rather than a covert-ops agent, he picks Gabriel out again, aided by his exaggerated stature amongst the non-SEP-treated individuals. Subsequently, he’s forced against him by someone who’s had more than their fair share of drink and stumbles for their balance. 

As the commander turns, a snarl forming even beneath the bandana, any venomous comments are dissolved on his tongue when he realizes it’s Jesse. The snarl smooths into a simple brow furrow. 

“You already that drunk?”

“Shut up. I got pushed,” he defends his honorable title of being able to drink Reyes under the table—not a fact that the commander allows to be publicized. SEP, with all its benefits, also has the drawback of multiplying the effects of alcohol on his nervous system. 

“Watch how you talk to me, McCree.” 

A retort sits on the edge of the agent’s teeth, but he knows where to draw the line. What begins as good fun can easily melt into an argument if he pushes Reyes’ boundaries too far. The way the older’s eyes pierce through him, somehow simultaneously warm with mirth yet cold and calculating, as if he were trying to figure the other out, stirs something in Jesse’s chest. Best to leave those thoughts for later dissection in the privacy of his dorm. Right now, they have a greater task at hand. 

The inherent apology in Jesse’s lack of bickering is a short-lived pacification, especially because he continues to clip Reyes’ heels or bump into him as they shuffle through the crowd. It’s no fault of McCree’s; the majority of the attendants seem to have lost their center of gravity to the punch, or are now too engrossed in dirty-grinding-almost-sex over their clothes as the music begins to wind down from true dance music to slower, suggestive tracks. Reyes pointedly ignores it, not quite understanding the appeal of getting all dressed up just to tear the costumes off each other on the dance floor.

The bass reverberates in Jesse’s skull incessantly, but he’s hardly cognizant of it, as the warmth from the drink has vined its way up into his stomach and into his lungs. A rising sense of urgency is brought to the forefront of his mind, though he still can’t quite parse what his body is trying to tell him. 

Gabriel suffers his clumsiness for much longer than could be reasonably expected of him, silently bearing it. He is finally fed up as McCree nearly trips into him. At that point, he snaps. 

“Is this a joke to you, agent?” he spits as he forces the younger into the shelter of an alley. The sun has long since gone down, but the ghosts of its rays still haunt the brickwork with their warmth. Away, only barely, from the sway of the crowd. He not-so-gently shoves Jesse into the wall. 

“I’m—” McCree starts, matching Reyes’ venom tit-for-tat, until he’s all but pinned against the brickwork by his commander’s back, “—sorry?” The initially passive-aggressive apology dies off into a question as his cheeks paint pink.

Looking between the older’s dark eyes, narrowed with unveiled anger, he swallows thickly. He’s been trying to not think about it all evening, but he quite likes Reyes in this get-up: most of his face obscured, hiding his very distinguishing scars, the layer of anonymity makes him all the more alluring to McCree’s hungry brain. Now, in the mouth of an alley, pinned by his commander against the side of a building, with an odd warmth that feels too tight to be liquor pooling in his stomach, he feels his heart jump up to his throat as all his blood drains south.

“There ain’t a lick of sobriety out there, don’t mean t’keep bumpin’ ya,” McCree mutters, turning away. It’s uncharacteristically soft-spoken of him, especially in the face of his commander’s anger. Something he has never learned how to appropriately respond to.

Quirking an eyebrow at the cowboy shying away from his glare, Reyes backs off just so. He doesn’t seem drunk. Gabriel  _ knows  _ what McCree looks like when he’s thoroughly saturated—accent thick and words slurred together into one, eyes floating about the room, and smirk ever-present as he sways and wobbles about—and this isn’t it. With only one glass of what McCree reported to him as watered-down liquor and punch flavoring in his system, he can’t fathom that McCree’s brief stint of abstinence for his training has caused him to dry up this much.

Staring at his agent, he files that away. He doesn’t believe that the punch was spiked with anything sinister; the sheer number of guests partaking in the punch would make international headlines for months if it turned out to be fatal. Everyone seems to be drinking as if it was their last day on earth.

“Be more careful,” he finally settles on, voice smoothed over. Still close with one hand braced on the brickwork above McCree’s shoulder, they look more like a couple sharing a brief intimate moment rather than a commander and his agent debriefing in the little privacy they can find. At least, that’s what it feels like to Jesse. Perhaps he is reading too far into it.

“Moira and Genji haven’t come up with anything, and neither have we,” Reyes says after a beat, “so I think it’ll be best to split up. Cover more ground before it gets too late.” 

He squirms as his commander looks him over, eyes unreadable. Reaching out, Reyes grabs a hold of his button up, fingers deftly working the top two buttons open. 

“Loosen up a bit,” Gabriel teases in his monotone, parroting his comment from earlier.

“Tryna make me fit in with  _ them _ ?” McCree quips, jabbing his thumb at a couple of girls at the far end of the alley. They’re deeply engrossed with each other, hands all over and lips travelling back and forth between exposed clavicles and parted mouths. He can only gesture at them so long before the blush creeps back, heating his face.

“This  _ is  _ a couples party.”

“You suggesting something?”

“Can’t let people think I’m just stringing you along, can I?” Reyes chuckles, eyes crinkling just so as he flutters the collar open. McCree has to be visibly red, he’s sure of it. There’s no way that Reyes hasn’t caught on to his obvious predicament, especially with how he’s purposefully rustling his clothes, disheveling him just enough to insinuate that the pair of them...

“Alright, cowboy. Skirt the buildings, I’ll stick shore-side.”

Jesse watches, wide-eyed and achingly filling out, as his commander manages to meld into the crowd with ease. It’s a far cry from earlier, where he stuck out like a sore thumb, heads above the others at the gathering. Part of his overworked mind focuses on the fact that Reyes just  _ undressed _ him, and the rest of it wracks itself to figure out a way to be useful apart from being used as a hole for his commander. 

Blending with his typical lust for the authority figure that just invaded his space and popped his collar is lowered inhibition, which Gabriel seems content to feed into. Whether it’s willful ignorance or not, Jesse’s dick doesn’t seem to care much. 

In a vain attempt to curb the discomfort, he brushes the growing bulge in his chaps with the heel of his hand. Shakily, a breathy sigh falls from his lips. He sounds like a fuckin’ teenage virgin. In a brief flash of unadulterated clarity, he’s amused at the idea of figuring out exactly how many hours he’s being paid to jerk off. He only gives himself a handful more strokes before it dawns on him that his desperation is only mounting. At least he’d fit in with the rest of the crowd. 

Collecting himself enough to put one foot in front of the other, ignoring the sighs and gasps of frisky strangers, he makes his way out of the alley, albeit a bit awkwardly as his hardness makes itself known. He at least puts himself to some use. But not before making another stop at the punch bowl in hopes that another vaguely stiff drink would help soothe his nerves and distract from his predicament. 

He’s torn between flattery and indignation as another partygoer at the punch bowl blatantly eyes the tent in his jeans, only accentuated as the chaps cup him. Perhaps he might have indulged if Reyes hadn’t already staked a potential, even if joking, claim on him. The slimmest of chances of falling under his commander's touch is more than enough, even non-sober, for him to abstain. The cowboy parts with a wink (surprising even himself with his forwardness) before turning to investigate as Reyes asked. 

Specks of something or other float around the artificial pink of the drink, gold pinpricks that resemble the few stars that are visible through the city smog. Something cheap to try and make it  _ look  _ more expensive than it is. A sip, and despite the wall of sweetness it hits him with, he thinks it might just be worthwhile to slow down on it. ‘Savor’ it, rather than drop it down his gullet and pray he doesn’t overshoot tipsy. 

As he casually drinks from the cup, he traverses the dancefloor again in an attempt to at least give his commander more eyes on the place. 

He gets lost in the sea of glitter and tulle from the others’ costumes, each brush-of-the-skin making his stomach turn with greater intensity. It’s unlike any other kind of intoxication he’s ever felt—without the liquor to soothe his nerves about it, he would be entirely overwhelmed by the way his skin crawls with heat. Even accidental contact can still be felt seconds later, ghosting along his body and further arousing him. 

What he can grin and bear for a few seconds becomes far too much stimulation after a couple of minutes. He rudely pushes his way to the outskirts of the crowd again, hair on end in a hellish combination of overheating beneath his costume and any exposed strips of skin freezing in the night air. For once in his life, he wishes he couldn’t hold his alcohol and could purge his stomach’s contents onto the ground. He braces against the wall of a nearby building, looking downright ill with the color draining from everywhere but his face.

Right back to where he started, having hardly gathered a scrap of intel. He’s hoping that  _ someone _ has found something of worth, or that budding fantasy of getting railed is gonna become a sour reality of being chewed out.

Managing to hold on to the contents of the drink despite the sloshing and spilling as he tumbled through the crowd, he simply glares at it in his clouded haze of arousal, cursing it. It sits high in his stomach, refusing to settle, and warms him from his core. The frustrated glower turns into a look of concern as the brief thought of something else contaminating his drink enters his mind. It isn’t vodka. He feels no typical trademark of alcohol intoxication apart from low inhibition.

Staring at his drink in abject confusion, he’s shocked out of his trance by someone roughly running into his backside. Before he can aptly respond in anger, a leather glove slips over his mouth and pulls his head back, silencing him.

His eyes widen and adrenaline is dumped into his veins, overriding even the potent arousal that’s been obscuring his senses. The drink cup is knocked to the ground, spilling what little contents were left in it, and McCree goes to wrest himself free from his attacker, muscles tensing and shoulders hunching, when a placating voice hushes him.

“Easy, cowboy.”

Snorting against the gloved hand over his mouth much like that of an agitated horse, he bristles, now in annoyance. Reyes. Relaxing against the warm body behind him, arousal returns to the pit of his stomach. The leather glove over his mouth remains, soft against his lips and smelling of earth and distinctly of his commander’s after shave. He can envision Reyes petting his face, smoothing his facial hair down after a clean shave, something he’s unconscious of doing himself but everyone recognizes as his mannerism.

McCree squirms, and Reyes stops muffling him. 

“Romarez isn’t here,” Reyes says, low and hushed in his ear to avoid arousing suspicion, “skipped town on a whim, didn’t even attend his own meeting.” 

His words don’t hold that frustration he tends to get on botched missions. It must be the relatively light threat the mission carried, where now he can just… relax for a little while before having to head back to headquarters and write reports for the remainder of his week.

Slinging his arm over his shoulder, his hand brushes past the open collar and more or less cups Jesse’s pec. McCree can’t help the fleeting image of his hand slipping under his shirt and groping the firm muscle. A shaky breath leaves him, obscuring it with a soft “gotcha.”

Even his sex-clouded mind tries to rationalize the contact. It’s just Reyes trying to maintain their cover by being touchier, only  _ pretending _ to get into his pants. Nothing more serious. 

“So the mission’s over. He’s already in another country, most likely,” Reyes continues, now leaning against the younger with an air of normalcy, “Genji and Moira are out enjoying themselves, seeing as there is no threat in sticking around.”

It’s so hot with the other man draped over his back, his other hand pushing underneath his arm to clasp together over McCree’s chest. Reyes watches the crowd bustling in front of them from over McCree’s shoulder, resting his chin where his collar is fluttered open, the bandana hanging off his face tickling the sensitive skin of his collarbones. 

Shutting his eyes, Jesse feels like his face is on fire. His cock throbs in his jeans. Swearing internally and gritting his teeth, McCree shifts, presses back just so, if just to scratch the carnal itch burning under his skin. It’s hardly anything, something that could be passed off as adjusting his stance. He feels Reyes straighten behind him. He lifts his head off his shoulder but doesn’t step away. 

Embarrassment and shame flood his cheeks as he repeats the action without thinking. Harder. As if making his intent clear. He can feel Reyes’ chaps and the rough denim of the jeans beneath them against his ass as he grinds back against him. A weak breath escapes him as Reyes’ hands shift, moving down to his hips to still the younger—firm, but not pushing him away.

“Are you sure you aren’t drunk, Jesse?” Gabriel asks, brow furrowed. Sure, it’s more contact than the cowboy typically would have permissed, but even including the single time they’d gotten hammered together, it was nothing more than sloppy kisses and light over-the-clothes touches. The last thing he wants to do is take advantage of his less-coordinated and clearly hot-and-bothered state. 

“Only had two cups,” McCree grits out as his stomach tightens in a coil of arousal. Sickness mingles without a notable stitch into all-consuming desire, melding the two sensations into one with no clear boundary to either. All he knows is that he needs release. 

Reyes takes the opportunity to glance down at the spilled drink spiderwebbing along the concrete, painting the dull bricks a rust color as it mingles with the dirt. Flecks of gold reflect in the dim light offered by weakly buzzing streetlamps that bleed into the alley, and the commander is keenly aware of precisely what’s happening to the agent. 

“You only had two, right?” McCree’s ‘hangover’ is going to be terrible. 

“Yeah.”

“Jesse, that isn’t just spiked with alcohol.”

“Whadd’ya mean?”

“Aphrodisiacs.”

“You sure  _ you’re _ sober?”

A huff of faux irritation is followed by the realization that very soon his agent will be consumed by the full effects of the drug prior to their return to the safety of the dropship. If Gabriel doesn’t relieve him now, there are about five hundred other strangers willing to do it in a much less kind manner. 

Reyes returns to their initial positioning, though one of his hands wander down to stroke Jesse’s flank like a startled horse. The younger man melts back against him, all but turning and spreading his legs for the commander to ravage him. 

Gabriel just has to pretend that this isn’t the fulfillment of years of fantasy culminating as he least expects it to. As the cowboy beneath him jerks his hips at the sudden contact, he smooths over his front with one of his gloved hands. 

“You gonna let your commander take care of you?” he asks, signalling his intent. McCree rarely does well with uncertain boundaries stone-cold sober, much less as his brain is clouded over with uninhibited lust. 

“Yes—yessir.”

“Good,” he praises. It’s not exactly the way he’s fantasized about it happening (usually it has something to do with the rare times Jesse does actually manage to outplay him during a sparring match), but he’s also not one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Particularly when he can feel Jesse’s cock arch for stimulation even through the layers of fabric. 

The commander’s thumb toys with the hard outline through his jeans, and it earns him a whimper from Jesse as a reward. 

“How do you want me, Jesse?”

“All of you.”

“Fuck,” Reyes hisses. If he raises his brows, he could see the way the agent’s fingers claw at the wall in frustration. 

His own cock is already filling out in interest. It’s not very often he’d get the chance to have sex in even a moderately public place without being recognized, and even rarer that his partner would be the agent he’s been fantasizing about pinning down since the very first utterance of an insult in his direction. Not to mention, even with all the too-long glances in the showers or suggestive, ‘accidental’ brushes from the other agents that seem to be crushing on him, it has been longer than he can remember since he’s had the opportunity to be intimate with someone other than his right hand. 

This is different, though; every bit as quick and dirty—on paper, a purely utilitarian fuck to keep strangers from taking advantage of him—but there’s a faint trace of tenderness lost in the movement of their bodies that would not have been there at the beginning of their relationship. 

Just as likely, he’s putting more stock into this than Jesse ever will. A gentle sigh, and he moves his hands to begin freeing the cowboy’s cock from its confines. 

“Oh— please…” McCree pleads, low and warbling as he watches Reyes deftly work his button and fly apart. With some of the tension relieved, his boxers bulge out through his jeans, heavy with his achingly hard cock. Watching raptly as his commander’s hand worries the hem of his underwear, he can’t help the strangled whine that jumps out. McCree swears he’s gonna die before Reyes even frees him from his clothes— lightheaded and near dizzy with hunger. 

“Shh,” Reyes soothes, pausing to pet his hip and reassure him, “I gotcha.” Pulling the red-plaid boxers down under McCree’s balls, he can’t help it as his eyes widen in thinly-veiled surprise. Flushed an angry red at the tip that peeks out of its hood, McCree’s cock is fattened up with blood and heavy. Drooping with its own weight. He’s almost reverent as he wraps his hand around it, gauging its impressive size in his palm before he closes around its girth. 

Tip already glistening with smeared precum, it readily weeps more as soon as he starts to stroke him, pumping his tight fist slowly as he gauges the younger’s reaction. Panting openly, Jesse has already begun to drool the tiniest bit as he cants his hips into the stimulation. Even in the dim light, he can see the exaggerated dilation of his pupils.

McCree is lost to the effects of the aphrodisiac already, and Reyes can’t blame him. It was a smart plan to spike the punch with a very non-lethal drug, one largely outdated and discreet. It made up for lack of security, that's for sure— no one would be capable of functioning with such a high dose of aphrodisiacs in their system. A little heavy handed on the concentration, as McCree’s current status lined up with what would typically be spaced out into four doses. 

Kicking himself, Reyes realizes that he was staring all the clues in the face and still didn’t put the pieces together until it bit him. No security on the premises, communal,  _ free _ drinks, and a high guest count. It was organized to waste their time long enough for Romarez to get while the going was good. 

“Boss—“ Jesse chokes out, “shit- more, I need more—“

Reyes has to muffle him again, volume unregulated as his desperation mounts. The leather of his gloves slips against his spit-shiny lips, easily slipping into his mouth as McCree invites his fingers in against his tongue. 

Speeding up his hand, he works McCree over, keeping an eye on the alleyway mouth that they’re facing. There is absolutely no semblance of privacy afforded in the dingy hallway beneath the balcony, nor anywhere else for that matter. His dark eyes glare out into the crowd, deterring the wandering glances thrown their way that may linger on the scene. 

Hips bucking into his fists, a guttural groan claws its way out of McCree’s throat, drawing Reyes back to him. Scrabbling at Reyes’ wrist and squeezing it tight, McCree chokes on another noise as thick ropes of cum spill out from between Reyes’ fingers. Massaging the head and working him through it, Reyes can only hum and keep the younger steady as he finishes pumping his load into his fist. That’s those gloves ruined. 

It did nothing to stifle the burning in his belly, nothing to cool his overheated skin, and nothing to soften his cock. Panting deliriously around Reyes’ fingers still lodged in his mouth, he bucks his hips into the tight, wet tunnel of Gabriel’s fist.

“Christ,” Reyes breathes, watching as Jesse tries to fuck his fist, “ _ more _ ?” It’d only make sense that it’d take… awhile for the effects of the drug to ease out of his system, something that indulging can only hasten so much. Still, he didn’t expect the cowboy to shoot off so soon and so much, absolutely soaking his gloved hand with his load.

“Please,” Jesse keens, only moderately muffled with the leather stuffing his mouth. He’s entirely disregarded the setting, how easily they can still be picked out from the crowd, and it concerns Gabriel. Aphrodisiacs are by no means lethal, but Jesse’s certainly had more of his fair share from the two drinks alone—it takes a lot to lose awareness of one’s surroundings. The hosts must have expected that no one would need more than one drink to be hit with the effects. 

“C’mon, kid,” he murmurs, renewing his grasp on the weight of McCree’s length. He uses the excessive amount of cum as additional lube, not wanting the cowboy to jerk himself raw before the worst of the drug has passed through his system. And because Reyes rather likes the way that it makes the glove glint in the low light—it drives a dagger of lust through his abdomen. 

“No, I- I need your cock,” he manages, breath puffing out with a whistle as he speaks around the commander’s hand. Torn between presenting himself for the other man and continuing to fuck into his hand, he hesitates prior to fully pressing his rear against Reyes’ arousal. 

Admittedly getting into it somewhat, though he’d maintain that it’s purely tactical if pressed, he allows a low sigh and angles his hips to catch much of the friction the younger man is offering. Before he’d laid eyes on what Jesse is packing, his ass had been the one physical feature he’d admired more than anything, and the prospect of getting his cock wet for the first time in months is alluring. He’s not sure how he could be  _ expected _ to decline, especially with how insistent McCree is being. 

“ _ Need _ it?”

“Split me open- please.”

“Hands on the wall, McCree.”

The simple use of his last name makes the cowboy arch his back before doing as instructed. Torso flush with the wall and presenting to Reyes, he’s the spitting image of obscenity, and the commander cannot get enough. 

Gabriel frees his own cock, though it’s made difficult with both of his hands busy. After a few seconds of trying with much detriment to Jesse’s patience, he finally throws caution to the wind and unabashedly uses his cum-coated hand to allow himself to spring free. Again, he silently thanks the SEP program for the fact that he loses no length to the slight bite of chill in the air; he stands proud and heavy, already excited from the mere anticipation of intimacy. If it could be called that. 

Deft fingers work McCree’s belt loose, just enough that the jeans beneath his chaps can be hauled down to his thighs, revealing himself in full. Reyes’ swears under his breath, stroking his cock at the sight he’s been fantasizing about and getting off to for years.

“Spread yourself for me.” If his hunch is correct—

Jesse does as told, and a shiver rocks his body. Strings of slick drool down his cheeks at the disturbance, lewdly painting the thighs of Gabriel’s jeans. 

—And it is. Some classes of the drug enable impromptu encounters by hijacking the body to produce a natural lubricant in males, making unprepared sex infinitely easier in the moment. A wonder of modern medicine. 

“Someone’s excited.”

McCree begins to voice his protest at the lack of Reyes’ cock being forced into him, but is stifled as the still-gloved fingers press against his entrance. He would count three of them, if he still had the capacity to count to three at the moment. There are much more pressing matters to attend to. They slide in almost uninhibited, causing Reyes’ eyes to widen in surprise. 

“You’re so easy, agent. Wish I did this earlier,” he says, slowly fucking his fingers in and out of the ring of muscle. His words earn him a jerk of arousal from the cowboy’s cock as well as an additional spurt of precum. If he lasts longer than another ten seconds of this sort of stimulation, Reyes would step down from his position as commander. 

He doesn’t give the opportunity to find out, though; without warning, seeing as it’s unnecessary with the cowboy’s newfound ability to accommodate three fingers with little ease into it. He withdraws his fingers and replaces them with the blunt head of his cock. He doesn’t immediately press in, wanting to give McCree an opportunity to mentally prepare, but the tease of his fluttering hole and the warm wetness against his slit is downright maddening. 

As is when Jesse presses back unprompted, enveloping a good couple of inches in his tight heat. Gabriel doesn’t know whether to moan or to cry, bordering on transcendent as he finally gets to fuck the agent as he’s wanted to forever. 

Jaw going slack in an open cry, McCree finds himself scrambling against the brickwork as he gets a taste of his commander’s cock. He didn’t even get to see it before it was being pressed into him, and part of his lust-addled mind desperately wishes for Reyes to use his more authoritative side— force him to his knees and make McCree blow him as he’s envisioned time and time again. There’s no room for complaints in his busy throat, jammed with wheezes and whines as his body acclimates to the feeling of intrusion.

There’s a hand on the back of his head, pressing his cheek against the bricks carelessly. Fingers tangling into his messy locks, knocking his hat to the dusty concrete below them, they tug him into obedient posture. Reyes holds him still, if just for a moment, and it’s for long enough that McCree feels a weak spark of self-consciousness. There are onlookers glancing at him from the mass of bodies in the crowd, some even pulling off to the side to enjoy their performance more  _ thoroughly.  _ He spies another man slowly jerking his cock, half obscured by one of the balcony beams, watching between his and Reyes’ body intently. 

Any coherent thought is expunged from his mind as Reyes suddenly snaps his hips forward. A shock wave of euphoria blindsides McCree as he’s abruptly and beautifully filled to the brim with his commander’s cock and he can feel everything he didn’t get to see. Fat enough to stretch his rim out, he swears he can feel Reyes’ length reach all the way to his belly. Reflexively baring down, he groans brokenly after a moment of being rendered mute in his ecstasy. 

“That what you needed?” Reyes says, voice low and strained. The cowboy’s wet hole pulled him in so greedily, his walls milking his cock without him even having to move. Pulling out all the way, he doesn’t even wait for a response before he’s driving himself back into McCree’s body. 

A shrill noise, closer to a whinny than anything else, jumps out of McCree’s throat as Reyes manages to find the right angle to render him braindead. Pillowing his face in the crook of his elbow, McCree babbles complete nonsense under his breath as rabid encouragement.

“B-oss, please… please, s’good, ‘s so good—” A ragged cry interrupts him as Reyes crudely manhandles him, leveraging one of his legs open. “ _ Fuck,  _ like tha’, c’mon. Give it to me.”

Balls hitting against his with McCree moaning loud and proud, there’s no feasible way they weren’t drawing attention to themselves. At this point, Reyes didn’t care. While partygoers were slowly beginning to congregate around the alleyway he was railing his agent in, it was quite clear who owns McCree. Pulling his bandana up higher over his nose, Reyes manages to ignore the onlookers’ greedy gazes as he dedicates himself into ruining McCree for everyone else.

Pulling at the other, Jesse opens his legs a little more. Sporting his surprising flexibility, Reyes finds he can entirely lift McCree’s leg up like a dog. Hooking the agent’s thigh in the crease of his arm, Gabriel proudly displays his claim to all that look on hungrily. His cock is leaking heavily, a line of precum stubbornly clinging to his slit as his length bobs with each stroke. It matches the line of drool that hangs from Jesse’s lips like a mutt, absolutely unaware of himself or anything that was happening past the cock splitting him open.

Unsurprisingly, McCree doesn’t last long under the attention, both from Reyes and from the crowd, with the occasional onlooker making a noise of pleasure as they enjoy the show. The commander’s free hand digs into him, evidently trying not to reach his own climax as the agent’s hole becomes slicker and sloppier. He’s in heaven. 

Head tilting back as Gabriel continues to pound into him with explicit snaps of the hip, his mouth falls open in an unashamed cry of pleasure. Jesse’s vision goes white as his cock spills against the brickwork. Reyes does him no favors, not slowing down even to ease the overstimulation he must be feeling, chasing his own high to put on a good show for their small audience. 

Even with his SEP treatment, Reyes doesn’t last much longer with McCree’s hole all but milking him for everything he has. It has the side effect of making him last longer, doesn’t make him superhuman. He neatly fills the smaller man to the brim, never slowing down on his thrusts as his thighs loudly smack against Jesse’s exposed ass. Maybe there was good reason he hadn’t cum in so long. He just hadn’t known it until now. 

Unceremoniously, Reyes pulls out, and half of his load splatters out onto the concrete below in a cocktail of cum and slick. It’s almost comical how he could fit so much inside the agent, watching as it now slowly leaks out. The more possessive side of Gabriel grins at the sight.  _ His _ agent. 

“ _ That _ what you needed?”

“More,” McCree pleads. It’s clearly the drugs speaking for him, but who is Gabriel to decline when it’s the only thing that’ll help temper the flame of Jesse’s arousal? He’s not soft yet. And his treatment all but eliminated a refractory period. 

Running a hand down Jesse’s flank, the younger man all but keens in overstimulation. Gabriel can’t wait to see what’ll happen when he reaches his limit and can’t cum anymore. 

The commander neatly sets McCree’s leg down again to give him a break from the deep stretch. It earns him a weak mewl from his agent. 

“Ready?”

He receives no verbal answer; the cowboy simply reaches behind himself and spreads for Reyes again. His hole is thoroughly wrecked already, puffy and pink and stretched from his commander’s girth. Begging to be filled again. 

Excess slick and cum pushes out as Reyes pushes in. He hisses in Jesse’s ear. He doesn’t experience overstimulation easily, but the mere twitch of McCree’s hole around him is mind-blowing, and the trickle of slick down his balls is intoxicating. He’s not certain he’d ever pull out again. And he hasn’t even touched a drink. 

There’s no resistance as Reyes slides back in, and it earns him a throaty groan of contentment. It’s almost endearing how sleepy and content he looks when Reyes stuffs him with his cum and makes him warm his cock. The drugs are making him sluggish and heavy as they’re given a run for their money.

Makes him think. He’s sure there’s a supply somewhere in deep storage, confiscated from some drug bust or underground ring, and it doesn’t seem like McCree will mind all  _ too  _ much if Reyes were to slip him something. He can get used to this.

The younger’s hole flutters around him, coupled with a tight whine and a fervid nod, spurring him on. With him taking a moment to rest, McCree impatiently shuffles his feet, tamping at the concrete as he pushes his ass back into him.

“C’mon—empty your balls in me.”

Reyes hums, deep in his chest and low like a predator.

“Don’t you worry,” Reyes says, hands finding a solid purchase on McCree’s hips, “I will.” 

Thumbs dimpling the toned muscle of McCree’s back beneath his shirt, he establishes a grip on the cowboy beneath him before making good on his words.

The sound between them is disgustingly obscene. Slick mixed with cum, now dripping down McCree’s thighs and balls, only amplify the sounds of them fucking like animals in an open alleyway at a bustling party. It makes Reyes feel  _ invigorated, _ being able to behave so inappropriately in public under the guise of anonymity, something he’s needed to do for years since he’s lost any ounce of privacy in the public eye. The bandana obscuring his face and the stetson pulled low completely hide his identity.

McCree’s a right mess. Hiding his face in his arms, he sobs with the bliss of overstimulation. His body teeters on overwhelmed and is still hungry for more. Leveraging the cowboy upright so that he is braced against Reyes’ chest, head lulling over his shoulder, McCree moans shakily. The slightest shift allows for Reyes to find a new angle to ruin him from and McCree grasps to hold onto Gabe’s hands for dear life. He fucks fast and mean, scarcely letting McCree pull in a full breath between each thrust.

“Boss—” Jesse hisses, grabbing at his arms where they hug his chest, keeping him from collapsing in a fucked-out puddle. Reyes can see his eyes rolled into the back of his head, half-lidded. A lazy smile is plastered to his face as he pants and whimpers and groans.

“Take it, Jess,” Reyes growls, “you know you want it.”

“A-hah—shit, wait,” McCree gasps, suddenly going rigid. He tightens around Reyes, who only uses that as encouragement to double down. Hitting deep enough to ache, he wrings out a mantra of swears from the younger as he makes sure that McCree won’t be able to walk right for the next week.

A weak, warbling moan works itself out of McCree’s hoarse throat, and he sucks in a deep breath, whimpering as Reyes takes a hold of his cock, expecting to see another round of cum leaking from the tip only to find that McCree’s begun firing blanks. 

He works the younger through a few more rounds, until his poor cock has softened even with the assistance from the drugs. It’s only seemed to marginally soothe the burning in his belly, as the uncomfortable squirming has waned but not ceased entirely. 

“Still need your cum,” McCree grits out. How he’s still able to form words after being completely spent twicefold is beyond Reyes, but the words go straight to his own aching arousal. He’d been so focused on ‘helping’ his agent that he’s neglected himself. One orgasm just wouldn’t do.

Though a minute or two with focus on the slick, thrumming heat around his swollen cock would do the trick. Jesse’s fingers scramble against the warmth of Reyes’ hands as Gabriel takes up a pace that would satisfy himself, and it’s every bit as lewd (maybe even more) as when they first took refuge in the alley. 

His own grip on Jesse tightens, tugging him into the borderline-mean thrusts as he pounds his way to climax. Ever the gentleman, his thumb soothes the crest of Jesse’s ribs, but it does little to combat the harsh hold or the unrelenting plunge of the commander’s cock deep into his belly. 

Embarrassingly, although he’s lasted this long, focusing on the sensation brings him to climax in a matter of minutes. His thighs continue to clap against the back of Jesse’s legs even as he shudders and growls filth into the agent’s ear. 

All McCree gets is a groan of warning before waves of Gabe’s cum are filling his guts. Even through the distracting heat of his ruined hole and his overstimulation, he can feel the commander’s cock pulsing inside of him as it works to breed him. Claim him. Reyes’ fingers have grown to become crushing, hips jerking into him in uncoordinated thrusts. 

“Gabe, it—ah—”

“It’ll be over in a second,” Reyes soothes. His eyes are wrenched tight, battling his own oversensitivity as Jesse’s hole milks him for everything he’s got. It’d be a  _ shame _ if the agent doesn’t let Gabe keep him filled like this at all times. 

McCree almost collapses if it weren’t for Reyes’ arms holding his entire body weight upright. His legs tremble like a newborn calf and his head swims with the overwhelming amount of stimulation cutting through the haze. Face slick with drool and tears and sweat, matting his facial hair and running together in sloppy trails that stubbornly cling to his chin and stick to his exposed chest.

The burning in his belly seems to have lowered to a simmer, as though a fire had died down to embers threatened to kick back up with the softest breeze. Two loads of his commander’s cum forced as deep as the older man can get himself seems to have quelled some of the awful heat, now a powerful weight that pulls him down with gravity.

“Boss…” he groans, voice wet with overstimulated tears. Shifting just so, he whines in a whistling, warbling note as Gabriel’s softening cock tugs at his ruined hole. It feels heavenly, warming the other’s cock with his body, but each minute adjustment is felt tenfold through his shot nerves. Another little sob wracks his frame as Reyes gingerly spreads him open and slips himself free, followed by a groan of loss as he feels cum escape his stretched hole. Making an absolute mess of his drawers, caught around his ankle, he feels Reyes’ seed drip down his balls.

“Happy?” Reyes croons, watching the younger’s hole flutter around the odd emptiness in the wake of him pulling out. Pushing his thumb through the trail of cum escaping, he presses it back in much to Jesse’s overwhelmed displeasure. Babbling little pleas for a break, he hiccups around a groan and a sob as Reyes strokes his flanks and attempts to bring the cowboy back down from cloud nine.

“Easy, I got ya,” Gabriel hums, letting the younger lean back against him as he tries to soothe McCree’s jumbled mind away from shutting down. It’s nowhere near easy, taking such a high dosage of illicit drugs at once and strongarming his way through the effects without medical intervention. It only makes sense that he may now start responding psychologically in the lull, something that Reyes has witnessed as an ugly event if mishandled.

McCree shivers and twitches against him, crowding back against him in the stark absence of somatic warmth. Some of his senses return to him, and he shuts his eyes tight and looks away from the amassed crowd of drugged partygoers. Where potent arousal had taken ahold of his system, mortification and shame fill him next as he struggles to grasp what happened, if he really did just get pounded and bred  _ twice  _ by his commander at some seedy party.

“Wanna go,” Jesse says quietly, so soft that Reyes almost misses it beneath the thumping music. 

“You want to go to the hotel?”

“M-hm,” McCree mumbles tiredly. Immediately, Gabriel is tucking himself away and redressing his agent for him, even snatching his hat from the concrete and dusting the dirt off the brim before settling atop Jesse’s head. Redressed in sweat-damp, soiled clothes is far from uncomfortable, and the displeasure is written clear across his face.

“I’m getting you out of here, don’t worry,” Reyes murmurs, once McCree is straightened out just enough to not look so… obviously fucked-out. Not a moment passes before McCree is crowding into his space again, softer. He ducks his head beneath Reyes’ and wraps his arms around the older man’s ribs in a loose hug. The tears that still threaten to come are wiped on the ridiculous cowboy get up he has somehow managed to forget that he was wearing, and he hides his face in Reyes’ shoulder.

It tugs at something in Reyes, and he easily settles an arm around his agent while the other quickly alerts their previously secured taxis to their ready pick-up.

Where he’s idly petting McCree’s shoulder, he glances up and catches a pair of gleaming eyes. Glinting at him through the crowd, impossibly close yet light years away, narrowed red eyes watch him. It sends a chill up his spine as it clicks who the intense stranger is, and he finds his jaw settling firm and terse as he glares.

Genji only holds eye contact for a few short moments before he disappears into the crowd, stealing with him a profound understanding of what he just bore witness to and that layer of anonymity Reyes found himself secure under. McCree hadn’t noticed, too deep in the comfort of his commander’s arms to take stock in his surroundings.

Not known for being a man of many words, Reyes ultimately finds himself at ease with the fact that Genji had witnessed such a depraved act. Unless there was an ulterior motive that needs fulfilled, what Genji witnessed was likely something reminiscent of his playboy days, tales that have climbed up the grapevine to Reyes over the course of years.

Leading him to the front of the plaza, standing as McCree’s guard beside the waves of curious partiers, Reyes finds that those eyes don’t leave him the entire time. It makes his skin crawl and makes him shuffle closer, possessive almost, to his agent that clings to him like a drunken lover.

He knows that while neither of them truly have it in them to keep it up at the hotel, someone else might enjoy Reyes’ sloppy seconds.

**Author's Note:**

> [lambchop's twitter](https://twitter.com/commanderbait)   
>  [cowboyflesh’s twitter](https://twitter.com/silverdynes)


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